Oh No, We're Lost for Words Again
by IsoldeOfIreland
Summary: A kiss is a start, but it doesn't always fix everything. Connor and Ava and what happens next. Post-4x07.


She's ashamed to admit it takes her a good two minutes to make it to the door, despite the fact that it's less than four feet away from the couch she was sitting in. Because this doesn't mean she isn't absolutely, totally fine. (Ok, maybe she's a little wobbly on her feet and has to stop every few steps, and maybe she nearly faints after the effort of getting up, but that doesn't mean she isn't fine. She is.)

By the time she gets there she's too tired to even check who it is, opening the door without looking. And is stunned to see her favorite sparring partner turned friend turned—well, she's not too sure what he is after this morning.

"Hey," she says weakly, letting him in.

"You should really check who's at the door before opening it. I could have been an axe murderer." Connor smiles slightly, and his eyes crinkle endearingly.

"I think I'll take the axe murderer." She says drily, smiling back. But a wave of dizziness comes over her and she sways a little, leaning against the door to keep from falling.

He quirks an eyebrow quizzically.

"I'm fine," she says defensively. She takes a wobbly step towards the couch, praying her legs don't give out. Now would be an awful time to end up on the floor.

"Uh-huh." He puts an arm around her waist and leads her slowly to the couch, "You lost over 3 pints of blood today. You are not fine."

"Yes, but I got it back. Well, almost all of it." She lets him lower her down onto the sofa, and catches a glimpse of his amused expression as he sits down next to her.

"All of it or not, you know you'll be weaker for the next few days. You should still be in the hospital." She can tell by his tone that he's not seriously chastising her, and she fights the urge to lean into him. He's so warm and so close, and she's so, so tired.

She can tell by the fact that she's even considering this that she's still more than a little woozy. She's gonna have to watch herself so she doesn't do anything stupid. But it should be ok if she closes her eyes for just a second, if she stays awake.

"So… how did you know where I live?"

"I have my ways." She feels couch shift as he stands up, hears his footsteps as he walks somewhere away then the sound of the door lock clicking into place.

"Do they include stalking?"

He snorts in reply, voice closer now. "Ok, I think the blood loss is getting to your head."

"Did you beg Maggie to tell you? Or get one of the nurses to hack the system for you? They all have a crush on you, you know. Dr. Connor Rhodes… the handsome… doc-tor…"

"Ava?" Connor looks over at her and finds her slumped over, eyes closed. "Ava! You better not be messing with me." He shakes her shoulders lightly.

After a few agonizing seconds, Ava blinks at him confusedly, hazel eyes squinting slightly.

"Connor, why are you shaking me?" Her tone is exasperated, and his shoulders sag in relief.

"How long has it been since you ate?"

"I had breakfast," she says defensively.

He shakes his head, placing a hand on her forehead. "Yep, you're cold. Your blood pressure's probably low because of the blood loss and the fact you haven't eaten anything. Seriously, Ava. You know better."

"And you know I hate hospital food. And peanuts," she adds lightly.

She does know better. But she doesn't want to admit that after taking a shower she was too weak to make it all the way to the kitchen, much less stand for long enough to cook a meal.

Before she can say anything, he's walking towards her kitchen. "Ok, let's see what you have."

"Probably not much. It's been," she stifles a yawn, "weeks since I went grocery shopping."

"Well, I bet I can still cook something up. Used to play this game with my sister called 'who can make the best meal out of random ingredients'." She can hear the fondness in his voice, the warmth. "Claire always took the 'random' part way too seriously."

"Connor, I can take care of myself." She manages to haul herself upright using the couch's arm for support. "You don't have to—"

"I know," he says simply, "I want to."

She doesn't know what to say to that, and all thoughts go flying out of her head when she meets his gaze, his blue eyes full of concern.

"Now sit down before you pass out on me again."

Something stirs in her chest. She's been on her own for so long, alone in her own country after her mother died and Nathi had to move away, then alone here in this freezing city of skyscrapers and metal. She's used to taking care of herself—used to dealing with her own problems and burying herself in her work, used to crying herself to sleep when she misses her mother's warm hugs and the balmy breezes of home.

She hears Connor talking about what he's making, but doesn't really register it. "Sure, it's great," she answers automatically, voice quiet.

She doesn't know what to make of this. He was worried enough about her to come here and check on her, and now he's making her food. And he'd kissed her today, even after she told him that she was the one who'd asked his father to invest in the hybrid room. If she didn't know better, she'd think he had feelings for her. Real feelings, beyond their usual teasing and flirting. But she does know better.

("I actually have plans tonight," he'd said, the morning after they'd slept together. And she'd hidden the hurt in her eyes behind a smile, recovered so fast he hadn't even noticed it.

But she'd understood exactly how he felt right then. Maybe she was fun to flirt with and good for an occasional fling but nothing more than that. No feelings. He has plans, and she isn't part of them.)

Then suddenly he's right in front of her, handing her a plate with a sandwich on it. "Hey, you ok?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just painting the horizon."

He raises his eyebrows, grinning in amusement as he sits down next to her. "You were what?"

She smiles sheepishly, shaking her head. "My mom used to say that. I don't know where she got it from. I've never heard anyone else say it."

He makes a small noise in response—something between a 'huh' and a hum—then starts looking around her apartment. She wonders what he sees, what he makes of the apparent brick walls she hasn't bothered to decorate much, beyond hanging a few pictures. Ungrateful ferns and succulents that insist on dying despite her best efforts to keep them alive. A few paintings she found at a flea market, painted in vivid yellows and blues. There's not much to see. The few possessions that really matter to her—her mother's handwritten recipe book, her collection of family photo albums—are carefully put away.

"I hate being this weak," she says petulantly, eating her sandwich, "It makes me start thinking of things I shouldn't be thinking of."

He shakes his head, smiling, "Well, you can't just say that and expect me not to ask what."

This morning. When you kissed me after saying I was amazing.

"Home," she says instead, stretching, "And my mother." After a minute she adds, "She died."

Ava takes another small bite out of the sandwich.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, and when she meets his eyes the pain and sympathy are genuine. She knows his mother killed herself.

She nods, swallows hard. It's been years and she still has a hard time talking about it. "It was a long time ago. I was still in med school."

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Ava eating the sandwich, Connor looking at the pictures she has up on the wall. A pint-sized Ava, sun-tanned and freckled on a beach. A woman with light hair and blue eyes lit up with laughter, next to a much younger Ava, their hands covered in flour. Her mother, he thinks. Then her mother next to a man with ebony skin and kind eyes, a smiling, teenaged Ava standing between them.

"It was just you and your mother?" His voice is soft and she finds she doesn't mind talking about this with him.

"I never knew my dad, and my grandparents passed away when I was young. But Mom married Nathi, and he was like a father." She stops for a second, lips quirking up in a half-smile. "He's the one who pushed me to come here, when I was given the chance. He had to move to this small village, to take care of his sick father, a few years ago."

Ava pauses, moves over to put the empty plate on the coffee table, then continues, "Guess he thought I'd be safer here then alone, back in South Africa." She shrugs, and he can see she appreciates the irony. God knows the hospital has had more than its fair share of disasters.

They lapse back into a comfortable silence. Then, suddenly.

"Why did you discharge yourself without telling me?" He asks the question innocently enough but she can feel the weight of his gaze. When she meets his eyes, she can see the tiny little frown marks that always show up when he means business.

(And part of her can't help but laugh a little at how ridiculous the whole thing is. She never would have thought that she'd be having this conversation sitting in her oversized Mickey Mouse shirt and mismatched pajama bottoms.)

She steels herself, holds his gaze. When she speaks her voice is steady. "There's nothing I can do there I can't do here. They'd already given me several liters of blood. I can rest at home."

"Ava, you know that's not what I mean."

"I'm sorry. I'm just no good at any of this. Relationships, feelings." She can feel a lump in her throat so she stops, takes a breath.

He's looking at her intently, worried now. She knows he's trying to figure out if this has anything to do with the massive blood loss because she would be too, in his place. When he tries to touch her, she raises a hand in warning. Give me a minute. He gives her a tiny nod, but his eyes—so blue and kind, the first thing she'd noticed about him—never leave her.

When she speaks again her voice doesn't tremble and she forces herself to hold his gaze, no matter how electrifying. "I was scared. I don't know what happens next… and I didn't want you to feel obligated. To think just because we kissed you had to take care of me."

"Ava—"

She continues hurriedly, "Because it could be just a kiss… if you want it to be. And I told you, I can take care of myself."

He's shaking his head, an incredulous frown on his face. "Of course I don't want it to be just a kiss. Ava, I care about you. You scared me half to death today. When you passed out, I thought… I thought I'd lost you. And I was terrified."

Silence. Then, quietly, "Oh."

There's so much she wants to say and yet nothing comes out. She just looks at him, eyes hopeful, expression soft. He understands.

His voice is softer, as his hands move to brush a stray curl away from her face. "I don't want it to be just a kiss. I want you."

And she knows she should probably say she has no idea where they go from here, because she can be cold and abrasive and emotionally guarded and she never knows the right thing to say when feelings are involved. And she hid the fact that his father donated to the hybrid OR, that she asked him to donate, and they've barely talked about that. But he's cupping her face and leaning in to kiss her and—

"Connor, wait."

He backs off, eyes searching hers, confused.

"I didn't tell you that I asked your father to donate to the hybrid room, and I should have. I know you have a… strange relationship with your father and you probably see it as a betrayal. I'm sorry I hid it from you." She forces herself to meet his eyes, dreading what she'll see there.

"Betrayal?" Connor laughs, looking at her with such fondness it shocks her. Fondness is not what she expected to see. "Ava, it's ok. We're saving lives with it, so who cares how the money was donated, right? And you should've told me, but I understand why you didn't. Just don't hide things from me in the future. Ok?"

She nods, then leans in and kisses him softly.

"I'm so tired," she says, resting her head against his shoulder, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

"C'mon." He stands up then helps her get up, keeping an arm around her waist in case she falters. "Let's go sleep."


End file.
